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J.H.S., a native of the State of Illinois, recently a “An' I saw John Beard, at old White resident of California, and now a citizen of the State

Pine, when he'd whittled his boots of of Nevada, has so eminently distinguished himself, at a single session of this Club, that he has been and parts o' his feet. That was in 1866," unanimously elected an Honorary Member of the shouted another. Club. EPHRAIM SHADWELL, President,

“Bar-keep, dish it up. Boys, nomi“JOHN Cool, Secretary."

nate the poisons. Ignorance is a local “It's a certificate for fine lyin'!” said crime, and people who haven't traveled several voices.

live in darkness. But the next time any “That's what's the matter, an' you man here present proposes to tell the boys know that I wasn't lyin'!" truth, I just want him to remember that

“Of course you wasn't! I've had I got this paper from the highest ormy toes frosted on the same day that naments of an enlightened communimy nose was peeled with a sun - burn,” ty, as a reward for telling the FROZEN said one.

TRUTH."

A FANTASY OF ROSES.

CONCLUSION.

HE cut on the head proved to be, for the first time words of his brought

more serious than had at first been an- “I am afraid I awoke you.” ticipated, making it quite impossible for “No, indeed; or if you did, I am very Louis to do anything for the next few glad, for I fell asleep from sheer wearidays, except to lie quietly and pass ness of my own company." away the time as pleasantly as he could. “Have you been alone, then, all the This would not have been a difficult morning? I thought-I felt sure that task, had his mind not been continu- Roberta came down to stay with you." ally perplexing itself as to what could "No; or if she did, she changed her be the reason that Roberta again treat- mind. I have a faint remembrance of ed him with such cold indifference. her looking in at the door and asking They were just beginning to under- how I was, as one might inquire into stand each other, or so he had fancied, the condition of some one at the north and now, without any apparent cause pole." that he could discover, Roberta seemed Louis tried to veil the bitterness of his perfectly unconscious of him. Three feelings behind a smile. days he had been unable to go about Fay, who could not endure that he except in a dizzy uncertain way, but should think Roberta cold or unfeeling, when once he was himself again, he answered seriously: thought with angry impatience he would “You must not think Roberta does know why he was thus trifled with. not care, or would not do anything for And so he fell asleep, lying alone; but you; but she has never been sick a day when he awoke Fay was sitting in an in her life, and she does not know how easy-chair beside him.

terrible it is to lie and suffer as " “How kind of you,” he exclaimed, in “As you know it,” Louis broke in, such a tone of evident gratitude, that softly, thinking that Fay had never been

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so beautiful as when defending her sis- “Why, yes, he and Roberta were sit. ter.

ting out in the yard.” “I don't know about that. I am sure “Ah, yes, I remember now. I think I ought to, but I don't think I really that fall has affected my head in more do. One grows used to anything, you ways than one, for I don't seem to know. I mean any bodily pain.” remember anything. How old is he,

Fay spoke with a weariness of which should you think? I've often wondershe was not conscious. Louis flashed ed, for he looks as if he had been to a startled look at her, then closed his the fountain of perpetual youth, and he eyes, wondering if Fay could know any- talks at times as if he were as ancient thing of any other pain.

as the Wandering Jew.“I wish I could do something for “He is about the age of papa, and you," she said at last.

he is thirty-nine." “You can, if you will. Sing for me; Your father looks nearer fifty, while I should like it better than anything. Llorente looks younger than I, who am You never sing any more.”

only twenty-five, though I feel a hundred “Because we can always have so to-day.” much better music. Let me go and get Fay laughed at his doleful tone. Roberta, if you want music.”

“Mr. Llorente has made Roberta “No, I don't want her music; it ex- promise to write some music for him, cites me, and makes me wretched - I something about the roses. I shall long mean it would now, and I want rest- to hear it, sha'n't you?” something to ease this horrible pain. “He thinks a great deal of her," said Please sing that prayer for rest, which Louis, evading an answer. you used to sing so long ago."

Yes, he was engaged to my aunt Without further urging, Fay complied Alice, and Roberta is very like her, I with his request. She had a sweet think.” clear voice, not strong or deep, but she Louis lay for a long time with closed sung with feeling, deeper feeling than eyes. It was not a new thought with ever before, and again Louis flashed a him, but he had always silenced it beglance at her from his half-closed eyes. fore by thinking of the difference of

"Thanks,” he murmured, when she their ages. But Roberta was so difhad finished; "your singing reminds ferent from other girls that now even me of the light delicate shades which that objection seemed to fade away, you contrive to get even into the dark- though he could not have told by what est shadows of your painting. I always course of reasoning a mere fancy besaid that through the darkness you came a certainty. When an hour later made one feel the light beyond.” Roberta came to the room, she found

Fay was silent, too happy for words. them still talking together. She smiled In the silence there foated in through upon Fay, but Louis had closed his eyes, the open window the sound of voices shading them with his hand. talking

“The air is very close in here," said “There is Roberta now," observed she, throwing open a window. Fay.

O, Roberta, if you have time, will "And Llorente with her?” asked you not play something. Louis has been Louis, with corrugated brow.

wishing for some music.” “I think so-yes."

“A wish that you satisfied,” said Louis “Was Llorente here upon the night curtly. of my fall?"

“I am glad of that, for I am not in

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the mood to play," answered Roberta; not take a happiness which would “and even if I were I could not, for I bring sorrow to another. Like a warahave bound myself by a promise not to ing voice from the past, these words play until I have finished my Fantasy the words of Sister Agatha-sounded in of Roses."

her ear, helping her in the hour of her “Then sing,” persisted Fay, feeling greatest need. And Louis, would he somehow sure that Louis was longing suffer? Sometimes she asked herself to hear her.

that. Because she refused his love, But he interposed: “I beg that Miss would he therefore turn to Fay? It Roberta will not be tempted to break was by no means certain. It was the any resolve on my account.”

only crumb of comfort which Roberta There was an instant of silence, then unconsciously allowed herself, and when Louis rose and left the room. Fay she discovered it she almost hated her. looked after him with wondering eyes, self. She felt that the sacredness of then turned to Roberta.

life, such a life as would only satisfy “You have been out too long in the her, would be forever marred, unless she heat to-day," she said, remarking her were victorious over desire and longing, exceeding pallor and the heavy black- and victorious in such a way that no one, ness lining her eyes.

not Fay nor Louis, should dream that But it was not the heat nor the fatigue beneath the calm a tempest of passion of the day which thus betrayed itself in had raged. All the time she was vagueRoberta's melancholy face. It was the ly conscious that no sacrifice was in vain, record of hours of wakefulness, which and so she schooled her heart to simumade of each night a time of hopeless late coldness and indifference, while unmisery, in which only one thing remain. consciously to herself Llorente's words ed clear to her — that she must take a helped her to endure. Her promise to new view of life, must choose for her. him she hailed as a welcome respite to self or renounce for others upon the thought. Through the long summer threshold the happy joyous existence of mornings, the strange fancies of her which she had dreamed, and knowingly brain wrought themselves through hand accept the privation of joy. At times to paper, and the silent air stirred with she would rise to that state of exalta- unknown unheard music, while the roses tion where renunciation seems easy and bloomed and faded. sacrifice has in it more of pleasure than More and more she absented herself of pain. At other times she would push from the family gatherings. Nothing the heavy dark hair back from her throb- from the life without called to her with bing temples and wonder if she were liv- a cry which she heard. Not so much ing over again the struggle of Alice Lin- as a flush of pain passed over her face garde. That Fay loved Louis was no when, looking out, she would see Loureason why to her should be sacrificed is and Fay together; Fay looking so both their lives. Let him choose be- dreamily happy, and Louis —she could tween them. Neither would have the never see his face. Then, upon one right to consider herself wronged. summer's night, the last page of her Then came the thought of Fay's suf- manuscript was filled with delicate char. fering – Fay, whose whole life had been acters, and Roberta sat looking it over, one continual strain of endurance; to filled with a sudden wild longing to physical pain would be added mental translate the written characters into suffering, spiritual anguish. Roberta sound. A month had passed since the shuddered at herself. No, she could promise had been given among the ros.

it?"

es, and the heat which had then been place behind her, standing with folded so intense was now tropical in its fire. arms, did Roberta strike the first notes; When Roberta went down-stairs Fay low liquid notes, blending with deeper was reclining in an easy-chair before ones of fathomless melody; the breath of one of the windows, which was flung roses weighed down with the sparkles of open to its widest extent. Louis was dew, floating up with kisses of light, and sitting in the window-seat. One lamp rippling together; light and darkness; cast a dim light in the room, so that at noon and even- tide; solemn and slow; first she did not see Llorente, who was ineffable as dreams of heaven, sweet as sitting by one of the other windows, paradise in summer; tuning life to such until he spoke.

majestic strains that heroism seemed but “And so you have succeeded in another name for life. Yet it was not all changing the roses into music for me? glad, exultant, but filled with dim yearnI am most curious to know what you ings, permeated with a quenchless melhave made of it."

ancholy. There were thorns beneath Roberta started, and asked in surprise: the rose - leaves, forever reaching heav“How did you know that I had finished enward; forever the roots, without which

life is not, were sinking down into the “Because of the radiance in your face, damp darkness of earth. and I am nearly perishing with longing No one knew how long she played, for it."

if even they were conscious of when she “Then you shall be gratified at once.” stopped, so softly did the last cadence

Roberta left the room, returning al- sink away into silence. Fay was in most instantly with the manuscript in tears, silent, breathless tears, as if the her hand, neatly tied with a scarlet rib- music had enveloped her in a bliss so bon. She handed it to him silently. ecstatic as to be pain. There was a mo

He made no move to take it, saying: ment's silence, before Llorente, bending “It is an unknown tongue to me. My down to Roberta, said: curiosity will be no better satisfied than “The rose - blossoms are gone now, before, unless -"

yet all the music is not written. An. But she would not understand him. other life is stirring out there."

“You have it as you wished it, sir. Almost mechanically Roberta rose and Remember that you refused to let me followed him out through the low wingive it to you in any other form.” dow into the piazza, and then down the

“But now you will comply with my graveled walks where the maple-trees wishes again, and make it intelligible to cast long shadows, for the moon was me? That is, if it is not too much of an low down and the stars were pale with effort for you.”

heat. Roberta did not stop to answer. She Neither Fay nor Louis had heard his was only too glad that the request had words. They only saw the pair go. been made. In a moment she had seat. Louis, who had been listening to the ed herself at the piano. It seemed to music with the despair of one who feels her that she could play the whole from hope dying out of his life, drew a long memory, so vividly had she been im- breath of relief-the relief which comes pressed while writing it. But she wait- from any knowledge, even that of the ed until Llorente had arranged the lamp hopelessness of our fondest wishes. Unfor her, and had unrolled the manuscript, consciously to himself there was also an pressing it out so that it would remain undercurrent of irritation beneath the unfolded. Not until he had taken his calm of his despair, which said to him:

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Do you not see how impossible it to mourning and desolation, for even would be for your love to satisfy such now the wood is ripening and the a nature? All the universe would not buds of another summer are quickencontent her — would not be enough for ing into life. To me the plant is noher sweetness, beauty, and genius.” bler now, has a grander beauty than it And then he turned to Fay with a had a month ago. All thought of self, sudden craving for sympathy and love; of this present life, is put aside, that bent near to her-so near that their other branches may also have their mingling breath Aoated together --and crown, and other summers brighten with Fay smiled through the haze which their beauty." clouded her eyes as the morning mist “And the music had not that," said wreathes the forget-me-nots.

Roberta, with streaming eyes; “but I “Dear love,” his voice sinking to the meant, I strove to give it place. It is softest murmur, “the music makes you so hard, and everything in life seems so sad. It is breaking your heart, as mine, difficult." with its sweetness. And it makes us Here she broke down utterly. Then, sad because we can not have and hold when she had mastered a little the agi. it forever. Dear Fay, sweet Fay, do tation which possessed her, she conyou divine what the music was to me? tinued : It was yourself, for I love you, and life “I have never had anyone to talk to is very sweet."

me in that way except Sister Agatha, “And to me,” murmured Fay, softly, and then I did not understand her. It “the roses were also love. 0, Louis !” all seemed so far off, and my life was

The great tears trembled down. Not spent in such a dreary monotone, that tears of sorrow, but the tears which fall I felt that anything would be better." lest the warmth and brightness of love She paused suddenly, and Llorente and joy should scorch our hearts. So asked gravely, but without curiosity: the dew prepares the green earth for “Tell me about Sister Agatha. What the sun's ardent glances. Listening to did she say to you? What was she that sweet confession, touched by its like?” simple faith and pathos, Louis felt that “Like an angel who can not endure life would not be long enough to prove the brightness of heaven because othhimself worthy to watch over and care ers sorrow on earth, and all that I could for her happiness. It must be, it was all tell you of her would not make you see a mistake, a wild mad fancy which had her as she is.” possessed him for Roberta; as if one should choose to send one's frailest It was late when Roberta passed up most precious bark over rapids and to her room, with noiseless step, that she down cataracts, instead of trusting it to might not disturb Fay, the door of whose the bosom of a soft gently gliding river. room was standing slightly ajar. She

And where the roses had been, where had nearly gained her own door, which the memory of their sweetness still lin- opened out of Fay's studio, when a rus. gered in the air, Llorente was aying: tling noise staid her steps, and in the “If the rose were satisfied with her window-seat she saw, not a shadow, uncrown of blossoms, if when those fell less it were the shadow of light, but Fay, she felt that life was done, we should all white and gold, as on other nights she have roses for one brief summer and looked while she dreamed. But she was never after. But see, the flower does not dreaming now-hardly thinking even not consecrate even one short month of her happiness, which clothed her like

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